Forts, Mohawks and Cuddles
by demuredemeanor
Summary: Sometimes you've got to take a look inside to find out what's really going on. Future-fic. Est. relationship.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>"What did you do with him, Castle?" she calls through the loft as she spies the mess over the couch, the mounds of cushions, blankets and chairs forming a fort she would have squealed with delight over as a child. Spending hours curled into a mound of pillows, a book cradled in the crook of her elbow, a flashlight resting against her forehead as she presses that into her shoulder.<p>

Hell she still reads like that.

Except now, more often than that, the creator of this castle is curled around her, trying to distract or already asleep, sometimes mumbling along with her as he tries to keep up, understand half a plot point.

She smirks as she notices the linen from their bed included in this mess.

It should aggravate her that they'll have to remake the bed, but it doesn't. not really, not enough to quash the smirk.

A fort.

He built a fort.

"Nothing. He's asleep," he answers emerging from his studying.

Oh right. She's supposed to be angry with him for this.

She flicks her eyes to him, narrowing them a little as he attempts to smooth his ruffled hair, undoubtedly dishevelled from an hour or two spent writing. It makes her hold her breath, will herself to make him consider, at least for a second that she's angered by this.

But he's asleep. How that was achieved… Well it's too late to reconsider that now.

She can feel him regarding her as she studies the edge of the linen, hear him taking quick steps towards her, socked feet almost silent on the smooth wood.

"Isn't he?" he asks quietly as he comes into earshot. It's like he's realising she may know something he doesn't, can see something he can't or even heard something he can't.

But she doesn't see anymore of the sleeping form than he could have from his study, locked away with the door almost closed. She'll have to chastise him for that later.

She shrugs. "I think so," she says quietly, finally stepping fully into the room, onto the soft rug, sinking her toes in like she always does. No more ginger creeping over the floorboards, trying to remember which one creaks under whose weight.

She doubts she'd wake him if she stepped on the one with the black mark, the one with the swirl may produce the right pitch though.

Although, she just yelled through the loft at her partner if that didn't disturb the solace of the form sleeping beneath her bed sheets she's not sure what will.

Castle reaches out to her as he meets her on the rug, but she slips away, kneeling beside the edge of the sheets, itching to crawl beneath and find out for herself, coo softly to him as he stirs, curling into the warmth of her arms, burying his face in her neck.

She feels her partners hands at her waist. He's knelt down behind her.

She lifts the corner of their too expensive linen and is met my a muffled snore.

Still sleeping.

Definitely still sleeping, hips angled awkwardly, twisted and legs splayed, kicked up at funny angles.

She's about to comment.

But Castle carefully urges her forward. His hands applying a careful balance of pressure and support.

"How long did this take to build?" she asks quietly.

"An hour or two," he answers softly, sliding in behind her, not giving her an inch of space as he flicks the sheet behind himself, having stolen it from her fingers as she moved into a half-crawl to scoot inside.

"How quickly did he lose interest?" She touches her baby's stomach as it rises and falls gently.

"Five minutes," he huffs, disgruntled. But she knows he can't have cared. "Though the constant noise of the sheets around him kept him occupied," he mutters, settling along the length of her body, sprawling with her across a wrinkled blanket she doesn't recognise and a pillow she realises is from the guest room.

"I bet," she whispers, tipping her head back, finding his shoulder as he slides his fingers over her wrist, following her as she trails a path against the ridge of his belly button, the soft nub still swollen, protruding more with his full belly. "Hey baby," she mutters, leaning away from her partner to coo at his cheek, kissing him once quickly in greeting.

But he stirs slowly, buries his face into her arm, hiding from her disruptions.

She huffs her disapproval and raises her head to kiss the back of his head, chase her stubborn little sleeper as he fights to stay under.

But she stops, before she can mutter anything more.

She withdraws back to her partners shoulder, bring her arm behind him to flick her fingers through the course hair at the base of his neck.

He hums against the skin of her neck and presses a quick kiss there. "Hey-" he starts.

But she stops him. "You gave him a Mohawk?" she asks quietly. "Again?"

Her partner gives a quick chuckle. "Of course." He kisses her softly again, just brushing his lips against the edge of her jaw.

"He's going to stop sitting still when you-"

"He loves it when I play with his hair." He toys with her hair, nuzzles it with his nose as his fingers find the edge of her hair.

She dodges, ducks away and scoots closer to her hiding baby.

Castle follows, toying with the spikes he's created. "It won't last but, he's already getting more stubborn. It's almost too long."

She kisses the side of his head, finds the edge of his ear.

She touches her temple to Castle's chin. "We should put him to bed."

"Five more minutes?" he asks quietly, sliding his fingers across her stomach.

She doesn't even have to consider, just moves her head down to her arm, her bicep a satisfactory pillow to tide her over.

He squirms into her armpit, pressing his nose into the crook, trying to get her to raise her arm, or maybe he's just trying to wriggle his stubborn backside forwards. She doesn't know.

She doesn't care, just uses the arm she's got draped around him to scoot him closer.

Her knuckle grazes hard plastic. "You put a flashlight in here? Castle, he doesn't need-"

"I thought he might like… I don't know."

She chuckles as he curls his body around hers and kisses her hair again.

"Have a good day?" he asks quietly.

She nods. "Catch up some?"

He nods and somehow manages to find her mouth.

"Still think we did the right thing?" he asks quietly, watching her watch the foot that's jabbing her in the stomach as he kicks out in his sleep.

"I couldn't send him to the pound." They've had this discussion almost every day since they found the fur ball, not at work, not at the precinct, not even her bringing a stray home from the park after an early morning jog. Just happened upon him, he's here now.

It always ends the same way. "Such a softie," he teases, flicking the paw from her stomach only to receive a swift return, paw open and blindly clawing at his finger, shooing the disturbance.

"You were the one who-"

"I know, I know."

He brought it home, snuck him into the laundry where he thought she wouldn't hear him, would give him a chance to warm her up to the idea. But it had failed miserably, well… His plan had.

Her response had been one he should have predicted.

Even Alexis hadn't minded, joked that her father and his girlfriend were welcome to substitute her presence in the loft with their four-legged baby, just to give her a heads-up before there was a pitter patter of more tiny feet. But they'd laughed it off and reassured her.

"Time to put-"

"Five more minutes?" she says softly, mocking his earlier sentiment, but also serious. "I want a cuddle first."

"Gone soft on me, Beckett?" he teases, mouth at her ear, breath hot against it.

She doesn't quiver, she doesn't, she's shifting forwards, not jerking away from her partner. "I'm not soft," she mutters to the sleeping puppy beside her, rolling the too-large animal onto his other side so she can tickle the underside of his chin.

He groans and grizzles, but as soon as her fingers find the cowlick on his chest, that little spot near his right shoulder, he huffs approval and lifts his leg, urging her to continue while he sleeps.

"You're his favourite," her partner mutters against her hair, dropping a kiss there. "I'm going to make the bed."

"Hmm?" she asks. She doesn't need to use proper words. Normally she'd be able to raise an eyebrow or give him a look and he'd know what she mean, but her back to him makes that too hard, her attention too focused on the ball of fluff with his wet nose against her chest, head arched so far back now he's a line down the length of her body.

"Ours." He touches the dogs ribs, scratching swiftly, once. "His is good."

Then he's gone from behind her and destroying the walls of the fort he constructed for their dog. The dog he bathed and brushed a Mohawk into his quickly thickening fur. She misses the puppy fur, not just for the softness but its fine insistence not to acknowledge her partner's insistent attempts to create head to tail Mohawks.

Luckily this one sags at the base of his skull.

"You ready for bed sleepy head?" she asks, already scooping him up in her arms. He's too big to carry now, but if she gets the angle just right, she can still lift him high onto her chest and cradle him all the way to the laundry.

"I am indeed," Castle pipes up, slipping his hands around her hips, all too aware that if he slides his hands around her waist he will find his hands meet a significant portion of dog.

She butts her head against his chin. "Wasn't talking to you. But I'll be back."

She spins and walks backwards, levelling a glare on him as he pats her bum as she pulls away.

He shrugs and feigns innocence, already gathering their sheets and pillows in his arms. "I'll be in bed," he announces as she turns her back to him.

"Good, we need to talk about the fact you read the dog a bedtime story."

_fin._

* * *

><p><em>For C, who inspired me.<em>


End file.
